


Of Firsts and Foremosts

by Kedreeva



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Blood, Enemies to Friends, M/M, Minor Injuries, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Apocalypse, Prompt Fill, Sharing a Bed, Trust Issues, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Weird Biology, Wingfic, and a couple potentially unsavory suggestions, swan!crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: Crawley finds an injured Aziraphale cornered by Ligur, and comes to the rescue for the very first time.





	Of Firsts and Foremosts

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the [anonymous prompt](https://goodomensprompts.tumblr.com/post/188068328132) on the [GoodOmensPrompts tumblr](https://goodomensprompts.tumblr.com/)! I hope you find this and enjoy!

Crawley stretched his wings, wheeling over the burnt-orange mesa, relishing the searing heat of the sun on his black feathers. Since he had left the Garden, ordered to his post on Earth to influence and tempt humanity, Crawley had been experimenting with what he could do with his new form. The snake was easy, a major aspect of his core, but finding the bird had taken an amount of searching for the right way to slot the magic into his corporation.

It hadn’t worked as well as he had thought it would. Birds, he had thought, were supposed to look a certain way. They had wings and legs and sharp little beaks and they said things like chirp and caw and squawk and still managed to look like they had dignity to offend.

Crawley, on the other hand, felt he had not quite gotten rid of all the _snake_. His toes still had webbing that wouldn’t go away and his beak was rounded at the tip and his neck looked more like he’d started to become a snake and decided at the last minute to have feathers and limbs instead. His neck was long and sinuous and liked to turn into an arch when he wasn’t paying attention.

The worst of it, though, was that when he opened his bill to make any of the noises he knew birds could make, what came out was an incredibly undignified “WAUGH.”

At least he could still hiss.

And more importantly, he could _fly_.

Normal flight on Earth was almost too fast to comprehend or enjoy. There was just nowhere to go that was far enough away to make flight worth it. Out in the cosmos, so long ago, flight had taken place over the course of light years – a unit of measurement the humans had yet to discover and would be wildly inaccurate about for a very long time – not mere kilometers.

But Earthly wings, the wings that carried him heavily through the dry air of Mesopotamia, were slower. Clunky, and in need of flapping more often, and they made so much _noise_. Still, it was better than nothing, better than the distressingly short jaunts he was able to take with his real wings.

Just as he closed his eyes to really enjoy it, a streak of pleasure zinged across his senses, ethereal in nature, and he started, dropping a stone’s throw through the air before regaining his balance.

Someone was in pain.

He could sense it these days the way he’d once sensed love and happiness, and it felt just as nice despite that he wished it didn’t. It did make humans easier to target, easier to manipulate, if he could start with one that was already hurting, already inclined to go where he needed them to be. But this wasn’t a human. This was an ethereal being, an _angel_.

_ His_ angel.

He didn’t know when he’d started to think of the angel from Eden’s wall as his, or what exactly he _meant_ by it, except that it felt right to think it. He had known the angel was nearby, sent to do _something_ soon, even if no one had figured out _what_, and he’d been looking forward to seeing him again.

But whatever he’d been up to, it must have gone wrong.

Crawley pulled a wing and tipped his head on his long neck and flexed his tail, turning in a long arc to head in the direction the spike of pain had come from. A low buzz of distress thrummed under his skin, distracting but not overwhelming, and Crawley followed it all the way to its source.

As he reached it, he understood a little more of what was going on.

Ligur was there.

There was no good reason – or bad one – for Ligur to be there, except to check up on Crawley. This whole area was Crawley’s territory, and for once he actually had specific instructions about what he was supposed to be doing to the humans. He’d been doing it, rather well if anyone had bothered to ask, for the better part of the last century, and the humans were definitely showing his influence. In fact, he had assumed that the angel had been sent to put a stop to his shenanigans.

Crawley had rather been looking forward to that as well.

But this… he didn’t like this at all. Below he could see the angel, pinned between Ligur and a rock face. The tang of blood swirled on the updraft. Crawley couldn’t understand why the angel didn’t fight _back_. He was, if Crawley understood it correctly, a cherub like the others that had guarded the gates of Eden. He could have destroyed Ligur. He could at least have given him a good smiting and gotten away unscathed.

Then the angel crested his wings up to defend himself, and Crawley knew why he wouldn’t get away, now or ever, unless something happened.

And the only thing which could possibly happen, given the kilometers and kilometers of empty desert all around them… was Crawley.

Crawley dove, not sure what he was going to do when he reached the ground but absolutely certain that he had to. The angel’s wings looked like they had been mangled, but Crawley recognized the frayed coverts, the bloodfeather nubs- he was _moulting_, and that meant he was nearly _powerless_. It had never happened in Heaven, but something about having an Earthly corporation tied them to Earthly patterns, left them with only Earthly powers.

All of which meant that Ligur could very well discorporate the angel. He might actually be able to kill him _permanently_. Crawley couldn’t have that.

He couldn’t outright attack Ligur, not without getting into a lot of trouble and possibly being destroyed, himself, so he would have to think quickly. The ground rushed up to meet him, and Crawley angled himself to smash-land right between the two of them, causing them both to jump back.

Crawley struggled into an upright stance – this ungainly avian form was not, apparently, very adept at landing on solid ground – raised both of his wings threatening, opened his fire-red bill, and loosed a very, _very_ loud “WAUGH.”

Ligur, who had been preparing to fight, teeth bared and claws out, recognized him even in this form. “Crawley? What the Heaven are you doing here?”

_ This is my territory!_ Crawley hissed.

Colors sifted across Ligur’s form as he thought about that. “You… were coming to get this angel? Well, I saw it first. I’m going to eat it all myself. Start with the wings and-”

“NO!” Crawley said, half transformed back to his human corporation before he realized what he’d done. He recovered quickly. “Uh- what I mean… sir…. Is that uh… w’you… you can’t eat this one, can’t kill him at all, really.”

Ligur looked confused. “It can’t stop me-”

“That’s it!” Crawley exclaimed, interrupting and pointing at Ligur, which only seemed to make him even more confused. Crawley began scraping at the idea that had started to form, hoping it wasn’t about to land him in fire. “That’s… yes! He can’t stop you. He- he- he’s terrible at- he’s just absolutely terrible at his job, even with powers, you see, and that- that means… uh… we have to keep him. You know, because, he- he’s here to thwart me, and if he’s not very good at it, then I’m left…. Unthwarted. Which means more souls for Hell. You get my meaning?”

Ligur’s face said that he did not, even though his words said: “I think so…. So…?”

“So...” Crawley said, grabbing onto the much more solid thought now. “If you destroy him, or even discorporate him, then they might send someone more competent. And if they do that, then maybe I get thwarted. And then Hell doesn’t get as many souls, and it’ll be your fault for helping uh… prune Heaven’s ranks, as it were.”

Squinting, Ligur tried to make sense of Crawley’s ramblings. “You’re saying I have to let it live, so it can keep messin’ up, is that it?”

“Yes!” Crawley said triumphantly. “That’s exactly it. You _do_ want Armageddon to come ‘round, don’t you? You _do_ want Satan to have all the human souls he could want, don’t you?”

“Yeah...” Ligur agreed hesitantly. He certainly didn’t seem like he actually understood much of it, and Crawley just hoped confusion would be enough. Something lit in Ligur’s eyes, something that reminded Crawley very much of a burning pool of sulfur heading his way. “Just because we can’t kill it, doesn’t mean we can’t _hurt_ it,” Ligur concluded.

Ligur took a step forward and Crawley took a half-step sideways and forward, holding up both hands to arrest him. “You could, you could,” he agreed desperately, throwing a glance over his shoulder to the angel, who was still curled in a defensive ball, his tattered wings shimmering softly with what must be all of the Earthly power he could summon. It didn’t look like much. “But what if you _didn’t_?”

Ligur stopped and scowled. “Why wouldn’t I do that?”

“Uh-” Crawley said intelligently. He didn’t know why Ligur wouldn’t do that, because that seemed like exactly the sort of thing Ligur would very much do. “Be-Because… what if… _I_ hurt him? He’s invading my territory, after all, and I should be the one to make sure he knows what I’ll do if he messes with me.”

There was a moment when Crawley thought Ligur would flat out refuse, and then he bared his teeth in what was decidedly _not_ a smile. “What would I get out of that?”

“Let’s make a deal,” Crawley said, almost desperately, trying to ignore the little leap of hope inside of him. “You let me have the angel, to do whatever I want, and in return I’ll… I’ll do you a favor, yes? Anything you want.”

Ligur studied Crawley, eyes raking down and then back up as he considered it. “Anything?”

Crawley swallowed. He’d really jumped without looking this time, but they were both dead if he didn’t keep it up. So he let himself relax a little and turn on as charming a smile as he could, and said warmly: “Anything. Just let me deal with him first.”

With a soft snort, Ligur retreated a step, and gave a nod. “Fine. But a deal’s a deal, Crawley. I’ll find you when I want that favor.”

With a little bow, Crawley said: “Of course, sir,” and silently vowed that he would utterly obliterate Ligur the first chance he got. Someday.

Ligur disappeared much the same way Crawley expected he’d arrived, hopping off the edge of the rocky outcrop and sinking into the soft sand below. Crawley waited for long minutes, until he was certain he’d outlasted Ligur’s limited capacity to be patient, and then he finally turned to the trembling, shimmering angel.

Quietly, he crossed the distance between them and reached to brush a finger over the surface of the angel’s wing. It zapped him, setting his arm muscles twitching, and he held that hand in his other until it calmed. The angel stayed where he was, protecting himself without a word. Even with the limited energy of just Earth magics, he could stay like that for days. Unfortunately, Crawley knew that he didn’t _have_ days. Judging by the state of his bloodfeathers, he had _hours_ before he would crash.

The electricity of the angel’s true form connecting to the mortal plane crackled just over the surface of his wings, his only defense until his moult finished. There was blood around them on the rocks, congealing on a bloodfeather that looked as though it had been smashed, evidence that even his access to Earthly magic would soon fail entirely.

“Hey,” Crawley crooned gently, not trying to touch the angel’s wing again. “It’s okay, angel. He’s gone now. You’re safe.”

“_You’re_ still here,” the angel spat.

“Me?” Crawley asked, confused. “You think _I’m _going to hurt you? I just saved you.”

“You _bartered_ for me,” the angel snapped, but Crawley caught the undercurrent of fear. “You said you wanted to hurt me yourself.”

Crawley stared, dumbfounded and a little wounded. “You really think I’d…?” Even though the angel couldn’t see it, he shook his head. “I wouldn’t. I won’t. Please look at me.”

It took a few more shaky breaths and then his wings parted, revealing the blue eyes Crawley remembered so well from the wall. The angel looked him up and down and Crawley offered a tentative smile. He held up both hands, showing that they were empty, and kept himself as small and non-threatening as possible.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he explained softly. “I had to say those things to get Ligur to leave. Demons aren’t… well, he would have known something was up, if I hadn’t. But I didn’t mean a word of it. Demons lie, right?”

“You could be lying now, instead,” the angel said, lifting his chin a little. Crawley could see he was still shaking.

Crawley observed the way he put his vulnerable wings forward, and came to exactly the right conclusion. “This is your first moult, isn’t it?”

The angel bristled. “What about it?”

“You’re what… two weeks in? Three?” Crawley asked, looking over the state of his bloodfeathers. Ligur could have discorporated the angel in a single stroke of a sword. He’d have bled out right here on the rocks. He had no idea how close he’d come, how lucky he was that Crawley turned up in time. “You’re losing your magic. Another few hours, it’ll be gone, ‘til all your primaries are unsheathed again. Putting your wings forward like that, with all those bloodfeathers at the front… Ligur could have killed you. So could I. But that’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?” the angel asked cautiously, but he folded his wings out of Crawley’s immediate reach.

“...Lend a wing?” Crawley offered, realizing that he didn’t really _have _a plan besides _make sure this angel in particular doesn’t die on your watch._ “You did before, for me. You were… kind.”

“I’m an angel,” the angel told him quietly. “We’re supposed to be kind.”

Crawley snorted softly. “I visited the North Gate, before I tempted Eve,” he said. “Not all angels are kind. Not to demons. Not like you.”

“Yes, well,” the angel said a prim sniff. “I guess I’m just terrible at my job.”

Crawley rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean that, either. I’ve no idea how you are at your job. I just needed him gone so I could get you… away.” He’d nearly said _back to my place_, but he was sure that didn’t sound appropriate and he was already on thin ice.

The angel looked dubious about this declaration. “Away… where?”

“Somewhere safer than a rock in the middle of nowhere!” Crawley told him. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

As though embarrassed, the angel ducked his head a little, and patted a hand to the sheer wall of stone behind him. “I uh… I’ve been staying here. I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be able to open it when...”

“Oh,” Crawley said, trying not to sound too much like he pitied the angel’s ignorance. He must have a dwelling here, one he’d closed off magically, and couldn’t get back in until his magic came back. He really did have nowhere else to go. Crawley shifted uncomfortably, but plucked up his courage. “I’ve got a… an aerie not too far outside the human settlement.”

“I really don’t think-”

“You’re hurt, angel,” Crawley pointed out, before the angel could get out any real protest. “You’re tired. You’re powerless, and you’re going to crash soon. I’ll leave after you settle in, if you want. Just… I just want to help.”

“Demon’s lie,” the angel echoed.

“Not me,” Crawley replied, meeting his eyes. “At least, not to you.”

The angel considered this for a long while, and Crawley stood unmoving, waiting. Eventually, the angel came to some sort of conclusion and nodded, straightening up a little more. “Aziraphale,” he announced.

“Aziraphale?” Crawley echoed, a little confused. He still remembered a lot of Enochian, but he didn’t recognize the word.

“It’s my name,” Aziraphale said, like a lecture. “I thought you might want it if I’m going to be… visiting.”

Crawley didn’t bother trying to stop his grin.

* * *

Crawley’s aerie was, like most, very high Up.

He had not particularly considered this, when he’d offered to bring Aziraphale back to it, but as they approached, he realized with a good deal of embarrassment that a grounded angel wouldn’t exactly make it up the steep cliff unassisted. He worried about it all the way to the base of the bluffs, and then turned to face Aziraphale.

“I’m uh… I’ll have to _carry_ you,” he ventured hesitantly. “Or hoist you. It’s a ways up, and there’s no ground access. Keeps unwanted guests away, you see.”

“I see,” Aziraphale agreed. “It’s currently keeping a wanted guest away.”

Crawley jumped and made a small noise, and then reached out to place both hands against the ruddy stone wall. From the solid stone, stairs began to slide out, zigging and zagging until they stopped at what appeared to be a random point in the rock face. Crawley let out the breath he’d been holding, glad that he apparently panicked well if it was to impress a wounded angel.

“Hm,” Aziraphale hummed, and started up them.

Crawley stared, heart thundering. He wondered if Aziraphale even realized that going first would put Crawley at his back the entire way up. He gave the angel a head start, just in case, not wanting to spook him when there was nowhere to go, and then followed him up the winding staircase, all the way up to where he hid his own dwelling.

Technically, it was not his _dwelling_, exactly. He had ostensibly purchased a home at the edge of the settlement – though purchased was a strong word for how he acquired it – and generally spent most of this time there. But about ten years prior, he’d gone through the same thing as Aziraphale- weak, powerless, vulnerable. The second he’d had access to magic again, he’d hauled himself out to the desert and carved out a hidden aerie where he could retreat to the next time he moulted. He’d been lucky enough the first time- no sense tempting fate with a second.

The rock face, much like Aziraphale’s own, looked smooth and unbroken. However, _unlike_ Aziraphale’s dwelling, Crawley’s entrance held only an illusion over it, and when Aziraphale reached the end of the stairs and put out a hand to touch the stone, his hand passed right through it. The “rock” shimmered around his bare forearm, and he stared wide-eyed.

“Oh, that’s much more clever than actually miracling the rock back in place,” he said, nearly reverently.

Crawley tried to keep from blushing at the open compliment. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Sort of had to be, if I was going to fly into it.”

Aziraphale turned quickly to look at him, hand withdrawing from the rock. “You- right in? Just like that?”

“Yep,” Crawley confirmed, popping the p and moving a little closer. Aziraphale didn’t move away, though he stiffened a little, so Crawley moved past him to walk through the seemingly solid wall. “It’s big enough for a landing.”

A second later, Aziraphale joined him inside the dark aerie. Crawley snapped and hellfire licked at the sconces in the walls. There was tinder in a pot, and shards of flint for when he didn’t have magic but for now, he did. It was a good thing, too- he didn’t think Aziraphale would like to wait around in the dark while Crawley tried to figure out how to strike the stones just so. He’d never actually done it, but if humans could do it he figured it couldn’t be that hard.

The whole place, all told, was not much to look at. It was not meant to be a permanent home. It had a huge nest of soft furs to one side of the single room, a few crudely-made clay containers, and… well, that was it. Crawley only intended to come here when he moulted, and most of the first time had been spent sleeping, so he’d made a nest for next time. He realized now that this was a bit… sparse, and possibly even suggestive.

“Sorry,” he said, catching the way Aziraphale was just staring at the pile of furs. “Didn’t make it with company in mind. But it’ll be just you, so-”

“Just me?” Aziraphale echoed, distressed. “You’d just leave me here? What if someone comes looking for you, and finds me?”

Crawley held up both hands to stop him, shaking his head quickly. “They won’t, angel, they won’t. No one else knows about this place. I made it specifically to hide out from my side, in case I… for my next moult. First one wasn’t great.”

Aziraphale softened a little, looking sympathetic. “Did you get attacked as well?”

Shaking his head, Crawley moved out of the way so that Aziraphale had a clear path to the bed. “No, but I had no idea what was going on. Thought I was… I dunno. Falling, again. Dying, maybe. Held on as long as I could, but…” He rolled one shoulder in a shrug, as if it didn’t matter that he’d honestly thought he’d never open his eyes again when he’d closed them that night. “Let’s just say I was very confused when I woke up.”

“Is it really so… much?” Aziraphale asked, his fingers fiddling with one another in front of him. “You really think I’ll… sleep?”

“It’s more like passing out,” Crawley said. “And I think the place could have burned down around me and I wouldn’t have woken up. A human could have discorporated me and I wouldn’t have even known it.”

“That sounds awful,” Aziraphale said quietly. He shook his head and dropped his gaze. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

Crawley swallowed his heart back down into his chest where it belonged. Aziraphale really didn’t want him to leave- or at least, really didn’t want to be alone through this. He forced a smile through the ache that gave him. “You won’t,” he assured him. “I can stay.”

Aziraphale straightened up as if someone had put a rod in his spine. “That’s not- I didn’t-” He wrung his hands, clearly fumbling for a protest, but what he finally said was: “Thank you.”

Crawley tipped his head toward the nest. “You should… you know, get comfortable. It happens fast once your Earthly magic starts fading.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, glancing at the bed. “And you...”

“I’ll stay nearby.”

He couldn’t tell if that made Aziraphale feel better or worse, but regardless of which, the angel crossed over to the nest and climbed onto the mound of furs and began to arrange them to his liking. Crawley watched, amused, right up until he remembered that he’d also lined the nest with-

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pulling something from beneath one of the furs. “Feathers! _Your_ feathers...”

Crawley winced and moved close enough to take it. “Sorry, yeah. I brought them here after. Didn’t want the humans getting their hands on them. They tell enough tall tales already, don’t need any about giant birds.”

Aziraphale pulled the feather out of his reach before he could snag it, and they both gave one another startled looks. Aziraphale set it back on the nest, and then moved it slightly into a different position and, without looking at Crawley, said: “You told me to get comfortable.”

Which was not actually an explanation, but Crawley didn’t really care. If the angel wanted to sleep with a bunch of demon feathers, Crawley wasn’t going to stop him. Instead, he watched Aziraphale finish nudging and shifting and pushing and pulling until he had formed what actually did look like quite a good little nest, and laid down in it. Only then did Crawley come closer and fold himself into a kneeling position beside the nest, leaning his back against the lumpy ridge of it.

“Crawley?” Aziraphale whispered, a long while later. He sounded on the edge of sleep, which was impressive only because the last of his Earthly magic had fizzled out of Crawley’s senses nearly an hour ago. Crawley had lasted much less time when it happened to him.

“Yeah?” he said, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

Crawley turned around more fully to look at him, but the angel wasn’t looking back, his eyes closed and his wings folded around himself protectively. He held the smashed bloodfeather in both hands, keeping it from getting damaged further in his sleep. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, angel.”

“I do,” Aziraphale insisted, slurry and slow. “I accused you of bartering for me. I don’t… I don’t know what you traded, but it must have cost a lot to get him to leave.”

Crawley managed, by whatever leftover grace of god still lingered in the nooks and crannies of his existence, not to reach out to touch Aziraphale, not to brush a hand over his cheek or his brow, or through that pale fluff of hair. “It didn’t cost anything that wasn’t worth what I got.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer. Crawley wondered if he’d even managed to stay awake long enough to hear what Crawley had said. He supposed it didn’t matter.

Time passed.

Crawley was not sure how much of it, just that it did. He stayed where he was, guarding Aziraphale’s rest, listening to the steady draw of his breath and cheating a little to hear his heartbeat, slow and even. His own eyes began to droop. He’d slept for fun a couple of times, but never with anyone else nearby. The prospect of being so defenseless around another creature of any kind was dismaying at best.

Still, Aziraphale was about the least terrifying creature Crawley had ever met, and he was passed out cold right behind Crawley’s head anyway. A little bit of a nap wouldn’t hurt. He’d just… wake up first and pretend nothing had happened. It would be fine.

He’d only promised not to lie to Aziraphale, not himself.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

Crawley woke to the soft mewling of an angel in pain. He dragged himself all the way into consciousness, shoving down the pleasurable hum under his skin from the reflection of that pain, and turned to see what was happening.

Aziraphale lay curled into a small, protective ball, but even so, Crawley could see and smell the fresh blood on his hands. Without thinking, Crawley reached for the wing that had the damaged blood feather, one of his big primaries, grabbing onto the edge of it. As soon as he touched him, Aziraphale gave a weak cry and jerked against his hold, and Crawley understood- the angel was _dreaming_. They weren’t supposed to _do_ that, but Crawley had seen it on enough humans to recognize it.

Crawley had thought maybe just being damaged rather than cut would mean the feather would survive, but Aziraphale must have flailed in his sleep, bending it or hitting it on something. Now it was bleeding freely, and much too quickly to be safe. Crawley looked at Aziraphale’s face, scrunched in pain and fear and made the decision to break his promise.

Before he could chicken out, he reached for the base of Aziraphale’s damaged primary, wrapped one hand around the thick shaft, and used his other hand to make a thin, neat laceration along the skin holding the feather in place, a bright spot on Crawley’s senses.

It began to bleed immediately and Aziraphale tried to flinch away even in his stupor, but Crawley held fast. He pulled one way on the feather and the other with the edge of Aziraphale’s wing, and the primary tore out with an awful noise and a nearly overwhelming spike of pleasure that set Crawley’s spine tingling. Aziraphale, on the other hand, cried out in pain but didn’t wake, confirming Crawley’s previous theory that he’d been very, very vulnerable and even more lucky he’d survived his own first moult.

Crawley felt a little sick as he tossed the ruined blood feather onto the floor. Quickly, he covered the fresh wound with bandages miracled up in a flash of his hand, wrapping it tightly and perhaps a little too much, but he didn’t want to take chances. The whole thing was done in just a couple of minutes, and he set Aziraphale’s wing back down gently.

As soon as he let go, Aziraphale whined.

Crawley put his hand back on Aziraphale’s wing, and the angel relaxed.

“Oh,” Crawley murmured.

He didn’t know what to do about that. He’d watched humans have nightmares before, but he’d never touched them. He wasn’t sure if it would have made them better or worse and he hadn’t wanted to find out. But Aziraphale… he had told Crawley he didn’t want to be left alone. Maybe this counted.

Eventually, though he hesitated for a long time with just one hand resting on the exhausted angel, he made up his mind. Carefully, he slithered into the nest beside Aziraphale, moving until he was behind him. He swung one wing up and draped it over Aziraphale like a blanket, and settled in with his hands gently resting in the heated space between Aziraphale’s wings. Touching, but not trapping.

He shouldn’t even do that much, he thought. He really, really shouldn’t. There was a good chance the angel would be angry when he woke. There was a good chance he would smite Crawley good and hard as soon as he realized Crawley had taken this much advantage, but for now, like this, Aziraphale pressed back into his touch and began a low, contented thrum that very quickly sent Crawley right back to sleep.

* * *

Crawley woke to an empty nest, the furs to either side of him cold. A small jolt ran through him at the realization that he hadn’t even felt the angel get up, that he could have been discorporated or, worse, outright killed and he wouldn’t have even been aware of it. All of the tiny hairs on his corporation’s arms and neck stood up, prickling, at the thought. He’d fallen asleep with an angel, and come out unscathed.

“Good morning.”

Jumping, Crawley whipped upright to see the angel sitting down against the far wall, his wings folded out of sight. Crawley wondered how long they’d slept, for him to have gained back that much magic. He wondered why Aziraphale was still _here_, if he had. Rubbing a hand over his face to try to wake up a little better, Crawley adjusted to sit a bit more comfortably.

“Morning,” he mumbled, then tipped his head. “Still can’t fly?”

“I can,” Aziraphale said. “But I thought it might be rude to just leave.”

“Worried about being rude to a demon?” Crawley asked, a tentative grin creeping onto his lips. “What will the others say?”

The color that rose on Aziraphale’s cheeks was deeply enticing. “Demons may be rude creatures,” he said primly, “but angels aren’t.”

Crawley snorted. “What angels are _you_ dealing with?”

Aziraphale gave him a withering look but didn’t actually argue. Instead, he clambered to his feet and dusted off his perfect hands, and then looked at a loss for what to do next. “I suppose I ought to say thank you,” he started.

“No, you really shouldn’t,” Crawley told him as he got to his feet as well, carefully stepping over the edge of the furs to reach solid ground. He realized, too late, that there just was not very much space in his aerie. He swallowed. “My lot can _never_ find out what I did, Aziraphale. In fact, if you say anything at all, you’d best say I took you to a secret hideout and hurt you.”

Aziraphale’s face screwed up a little in distaste. “That would be _lying_,” he said, tone matching his expression.

Without thinking too much about it, Crawley reached for him. Aziraphale froze, looking very much like he was suddenly in the throes of fight-or-flight and had chosen _fight_. But he didn’t move as Crawley slid his fingers over the soft skin of Aziraphale’s wrist, circling it loosely. Aziraphale gave a minute jerk when Crawley began to lift his arm, but when Crawley hesitated, Aziraphale’s arm went lax. He gave no further resistance, eyes locked on Crawley and breath coming shallow and quick.

Carefully, Crawley turned Aziraphale’s wrist, exposing the soft underside of his forearm. With Aziraphale watching, he pressed one fingertip to the thin skin there, and let one claw curl out from his nail, just enough to prick the surface.

Aziraphale hissed as blood welled under the tip of Crawley’s claw, and Crawley released him, an unpleasant little curl of pleasure in his gut echoing back from Aziraphale’s pain.

“It’s the truth, now,” Crawley murmured, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Aziraphale agreed, pressing his thumb over the dot. “I can tell them you pulled a primary out, too.”

Crawley winced. “Sorry about that,” he said, unable to stop himself. He’d apologized more since chasing off Ligur than he’d done in the rest of his entire existence. Demons weren’t supposed to be _sorry_. “You started bleeding again.”

“I guessed as much, from all the blood you didn’t bother to clean before you climbed in,” Aziraphale said, and Crawley almost felt chagrined over it, except that he could see a little bit of light in Aziraphale’s eyes. Just a little hint of a smile at one corner of his lips.

Instead, he felt a little bit of heat in his own cheeks at the mention of his actions. “Your own fault,” Crawley told him. “I was going to get cleaned up but you didn’t want me to leave. I think you were dreaming. And I don’t think it was very nice for you.”

Aziraphale’s expression shuttered and he dropped his gaze. “No,” he agreed. “I don’t remember it, but I remember how I felt, and I remember... not wanting to be alone. And then I wasn’t.”

Crawley’s skin prickled again, his corporation’s belly doing strange things like dropping and leaping and flipping over trying to get his attention. He didn’t know what to say- he didn’t know how to say he’d rather not leave the angel alone at all. He didn’t know how to say he’d have followed him from one gate of Eden to the other, the long way around the world, if only he’d asked.

“I told you I’d stay nearby,” he finally managed.

Aziraphale’s soft smile held words Crawley didn’t understand. It made him want to apologize again, even though he didn’t know what for. “I should go,” Aziraphale said, stepping back. There wasn’t much room to do so. “I’m sure you have business to attend to and I- So do I.”

Crawley nodded and didn’t move closer or further. “Maybe I’ll... see you around?”

Aziraphale’s smile paled, faltering, and then his wings glimmered into the mortal realm, whole and pristine and more beautiful than any others Crawley had seen. They must have slept for longer than he thought.

“I should hope not,” Aziraphale said quietly as he turned away toward the mouth of the aerie. “But… I do hope so. I would like that. Goodbye, Crawley. And… thank you.”

Then he was gone, and Crawley was left staring at a blank wall in an empty aerie that suddenly felt much, much too big for just one person. He sighed, and then flopped down onto the furs. Small white coverts puffed up around him, and he plucked one out of the air. It was soft and warm, as if still nestled in its place on Aziraphale’s wing, and he brushed it lightly over his lips, and smiled.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Another (Moult) Bites the Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957195) by [Charity_Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charity_Angel/pseuds/Charity_Angel)


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